


Happy Birthday

by SnoopFroggyFrog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also Fenrir Likes Fairytales, Battle of Hogwarts, Fenrir Is A Creep, Gen, Minor Character Death, Seer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnoopFroggyFrog/pseuds/SnoopFroggyFrog
Summary: His name is Fenrir Greyback. He is my murderer. I know that. I know everything. My name is Leslie, and today is my Birthday.





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the usage of tenses and the grammar overall serves a purpose here. I know it's probably confusing, but to be fair, I _was_ reading a lot of Kafka and the likes at the time...
> 
> If the very literary kind of writing puts you off, I suspect this won't be for you, sorry. But hey, look, Fenrir! He's pawsome! Or at least fascinating. Something like that.
> 
> Also, unsurprisingly, Fenrir kisses a corpse.

Been. Was. Be.  
  
I am watching. Harry Potter, Head of the Auror Department, father of three. James Sirius, Albus Severus, Lily Luna. Named after grandparents, godfather, godmother, potions professor.  
  
Watch where you are going, Miss Martinez.  
  
I am sorry, Professor Snape.  
  
I am watching. Professor Severus Snape, died in the war on the second of may in 1998. He watches me when I am watching. He doesn't know. He thinks I am dull. He's right. Pay attention to your potion, Miss Martinez. Yes, professor. Five points from Hufflepuff. I understand, professor.  
  
It is 1989. Christmas. My sister Veronica gets a new football, I get a guinea pig. It runs away half a year later when my sister doesn't pay attention for a moment while playing with it in the garden of our friend's Susanna's house. It's name is Dr. Phil, and it dies three weeks after running away. Tumor. I do not see it again after it runs away. I don't miss it, sadly. I don't miss much.  
  
I miss Daddy and Mummy. Mummy is from Argentina, her parents run away from the dictatorship there before she is born, and she grows up in London. Daddy meets Mummy while he works at a bakery – he is a baker, my dad. He thinks we don't know, but I do. He has magic, too. But he hides. He is always afraid. He nearly doesn't let us go to Hogwarts. He does leave home with us when Harry Potter tells the world that Tom Riddle is back. Dad takes us to his childhood home, where his mother will be screaming from a portrait. I like her, she's challenging. Not dead, obviously, but challenging. Hard to read. Have trouble finding out where she is, but manage before I die.  
  
When Harry Potter will tell the world that Tom Riddle returns, I did not believe him. I never believe. Those who believe do not know. I know. That is why I don't believe.  
  
I envy the others, sometimes. Their lifes are easy, because they never know. Ethan Shafiq, he is in my year in Slytherin. He grows up to become a ministry person, with a nice wife, two children and a dog. He killed a colleague by accident in 2046 and hangs himself two weeks later. Angelica Smith, also my year but Gryffindor and Muggleborn. During her apprenticeship at St. Mungo's she is raped by a group of young muggles, is not able to overcome it and becomes the first official serial killer of wizarding Britain. They have a great many serial killers before, but only when it's a Muggleborn they take the time to look. They always believe, but do not know. I don't like that. I envy it, but I don't like it.  
  
I am watching. Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's Golden Girl. She marries her best friend Ronald Weasley after she will leave school, and she has her first affair eight months after their wedding. First with a muggle whose name she has forgotten, but it's Charles Browning, and he owns a bar. After him, she moves on to Alan Heyfer, an office worker with three children, widower, who is killed in a car accident twenty-eight years after he breaks up with Hermione. She then goes to Dean Thomas, but they quickly end it, and she feels alone again, so she goes to Viktor Krum, and he wants her and she wants him, and when her daughter is fifteen, Hermione divorces from Ronald, who, in turn, finds solace in the arms of Padma Patil. She never forgives him for the incident at the Yule Ball, but she compromises once she has sex with him.  
  
I first saw sex when I knew first. The world is full of it. Oscar Wilde anchors me sometimes, and for a few seconds I forget that I know. I tried to tell Mummy and Daddy, but Mummy didn't understand and Daddy was afraid, so he acted like he doesn't understand. When I keep confusing my tenses in English, my teacher complained to my parents about it. I got summer courses and I'll learn how to fake once I know more clearly. Knowing makes it easier. I know how to do it, but when I know, I also don't know when not to know. Because knowing what I know is different from knowing how the others know.  
  
I wanted to take Divination, so when I first go there I want it to be grand, but I know it won't be. My professor knows, too, but she doesn't know that she knows. I envy her always. She makes people think she is crazy, but I make people think I am stupid. Crazy can be charming, stupid is stupid. My sister once calls me duller than a duck's ass, and I know that she will bear three children, pass on Daddy's real family name and then kill herself because she never got over my death. Daddy didn't either, but he doesn't kill himself. He raises his grandchildren and accidentally makes two of them muggle-haters. The other one, Dominic, goes to Mummy's old home, Argentina, and breaks up any contact with the rest of the family. He dies when he's 135 years old, in the cave where he lived the previous years as an eremite. Because he's an Animagus, he makes my sister's grandchildren be cute little kitties. They develop magic and become a pest to a rather solitary village, and all are shot by a farmer. I don't feel sad for them. I know, so I don't know how to feel about it. Feeling is difficult.  
  
Would I not know that he was in no way like me, I would suspect that Tom Riddle the younger also is like me. His feeling is difficult like mine. In a way he does know – he knows by getting to know, because he can feel other's thoughts and feelings. The only time I ever remember I felt is when I see him feeling the other people at his orphanage, children and staff, hate him, so he hides himself and cries. I know I am not much different, and only the fact that I know more than him keeps me from turning the same way. I know it is easier to turn on simple things like dark magic when you know not how to manage your knowing. Although he would not have turned that way had he not felt Abraxas Malfoy who already had his head in those things. When I am required to smile, I think of how Tom treasures the diary Abraxas gave him for christmas, or of how he helped Hagrid hide his Acromantula in the cellars, or of how he made Olive Hornby get detention when she picks on Myrtle. More things in his life than he realises can make me smile, and would have made him smile, too, had he known. But his knowing is shadowed by Myrtle dying, the same day he told her not to stay outside her dorm, because he knows when he attacks, and he doesn't want to attack Myrtle, but she dies anyway. He cries the whole night. He never likes killing, but because he doesn't like it, he wasn't able to stay away from it. He always does things to him he doesn't like, because he is messed up. But everyone is messed up.  
  
Harry Potter is messed up. He does all things good and goldy, and I don't like when I see him running around, talking about his awful family. I know awful families. I know the Dursleys. They are messed up, because Petunia grieves for her sister and hates herself for being not enough, and because Vernon never knows how to do with children because his daddy beats him up so many times when he is small, and because Dudley thinks he has to eat to get attention. They are messed up. Messed up is not awful. Awful is what not everyone does. Messed up is everyone. But I know it all, so I don't feel more than a bit dislike when Harry Potter complains. How to feel more is not in my range of knowing. I know others, hardly myself.  
  
I know the founders and I know every history book is stupid on them. Actually, I know every history book is stupid on anything. The wizard's history books, mainly. They write what they have been told happens. I prefer muggle's history books: They compare what they are told, so they don't get everything wrong. They don't know about Carl the Great's foot fetish, but they know he was not nice to women like they were in the modern times. They don't know that Grand Duchess Anastasia from Russia did survive, but to be fair, they are hardly told by wizards about anything. In turn, wizards don't know that muggles are mostly more intelligent than them. I say mostly because I don't know in great numbers, I know individually, and it is hard to count each and every individual. But of course, statistics are in the favour of the muggles, because they are more and, thus, have more intelligent people than the wizards. It's a bit sad for the wizards, who die out from radical increase of wizarding illnesses at the end of the twenty-first century, but luckily they don't have to see the great war between the muggles and the goblins that way. Goblins won, enslaved muggles, then there is nothing because a huge meteor has splitted earth in half. A few muggles manage to flee on a space ship, and then I think they start to live like in a science fiction TV show. It's a little hard to know, because my knowing is limited to earth. At least I never know beyond it.  
  
I die on the second of may in 1998. Mummy and Daddy make me promise not to run into the fight. I don't like making promises I can't keep, but I have no choice but to agree. Once no one notices I escape the safe spot and search for my murderer. His name is Fenrir Greyback. He won't maim me, I know, because I make him to.  
  
Hello, little missy.  
  
You will murder me.  
  
Afraid.  
  
No.  
  
Why.  
  
Know it.  
  
Hardly a reason.  
  
Reason for me.  
  
You'll be tasty.  
  
You don't eat me.  
  
Why not.  
  
Because you didn't.  
  
You are still alive.  
  
I am dead since I was born.  
  
Are you stupid.  
  
No, I know.  
  
What do you know.  
  
Things.  
  
What things.  
  
The things I know.  
  
You're a seer.  
  
I know, so I see as well.  
  
My lord would like that.  
  
You like him too much.  
  
Too much for what.  
  
Too much for letting him know what I know.  
  
He can't get hurt by a child.  
  
I'm not a child, I am dead.  
  
I won't kill you. Seers are valuable.  
  
You kill me, because you killed me already.  
  
Future is not one clear path, that I know from divination class.  
  
I don't do divination, I know. I know you killed me. I don't know about fate or destiny. If I don't know, they didn't exist. I know, and I know that you killed me, so kill me.  
  
I will hand you to my lord.  
  
He's not your mad hatter.  
  
How do you know about that.  
  
I said I know.  
  
How that.  
  
Because I know.  
  
That doesn't make sense.  
  
Nothing makes sense.  
  
Do you want to die.  
  
No.  
  
But you want me to kill you.  
  
You already did it.  
  
You are still alive.  
  
I died when I first knew.  
  
So you wouldn't be here if you didn't know.  
  
I am always here.  
  
No matter if you know.  
  
Yes.  
  
Is that not fate.  
  
That my ends are the same is no proof for fate.  
  
What would be.  
  
If all ends were the same.  
  
Aren't they.  
  
No.  
  
Tell me.  
  
Not about you.  
  
Why.  
  
Don't know your own ends unless you know.  
  
Is that a seer rule.  
  
No, it's what I think is best.  
  
Because you know your own ends.  
  
Yes.  
  
So tell me.  
  
He dies at age two from malnourishment. He gets adopted by thirteen people, five of those good, three damage him further, the remaining six make his life dull and him an office clerk. He survives everything and meets his half-brother. He is brought into an asylum before Hogwarts, when he gets his letter he thinks he's going crazy again and hangs himself. He stops trying to return and turns into a snake for good. He grows up with his mother and her family, they damage him, he accidentally kills his grandfather, his mother kills herself, his uncle is imprisoned, he meets his father and is taken into custody by the Unspeakables because they think he is too damaged for the rest of life. My personal favourite is he gets turned into a child by accident.  
  
With what end.  
  
A good end.  
  
You won't tell me more.  
  
You have to do it.  
  
Not yet.  
  
I know why you like him.  
  
I know that you do.  
  
But you would kill him.  
  
I want to because I like him.  
  
You want to do it for yourself.  
  
I await him.  
  
You always do.  
  
You know what I would do where he in your place.  
  
That is no end.  
  
It never happens.  
  
Never.  
  
You are arrogant.  
  
I simply am.  
  
I think you're arrogant.  
  
You don't.  
  
True.  
  
Do it.  
  
I guess you don't want me to maim you.  
  
Very much so.  
  
What do I get for that.  
  
Tell me what you want.  
  
You know it already.  
  
I want to hear it.  
  
Tell me of an end where I ravish him.  
  
You do, but a peacock beheads you after that.  
  
A peacock. Wait, that peacock.  
  
That peacock.  
  
He is too great a coward to look at his own shadow.  
  
Not in the moment of that end.  
  
Is it the end that lies before me.  
  
No.  
  
Can I trust you.  
  
You can trust that I know.  
  
How do I know you're not lying.  
  
You don't. I do.  
  
I don't believe you.  
  
You do. You don't smell me fear.  
  
Yes, I do believe you.  
  
So.  
  
So.  
  
You have to do it.  
  
I'm a bit disappointed that I have to.  
  
You know I'm not flattered.  
  
Because of me saying that.  
  
I am never flattered.  
  
Oh, beautiful girl like you.  
  
Beauty is a myth.  
  
Is it.  
  
Yes.  
  
So no one is beautiful.  
  
No.  
  
Is there anything everyone is.  
  
Messed up.  
  
I thought so.  
  
So.  
  
I'm actually a bit sorry. You're quite fun to be around.  
  
You are the first to think that.  
  
Because you have never told anyone else.  
  
No.  
  
Why me.  
  
You are my murderer. There is no more intimacy between two people.  
  
You make me sound like a paedophile.  
  
Some would say that you are one.  
  
It's called a lolita-complex.  
  
I know.  
  
Have you read the book.  
  
I know the book.  
  
'course you do.  
  
I am still waiting.  
  
If you are still waiting, aren't you alive.  
  
No.  
  
Why.  
  
Because I died when I was born.  
  
I see.  
  
Thank you.  
  
Happy Birthday.

  


Fenrir caught the girl before she fell to the ground. Her lifeless limbs in his arms were inviting, but he refrained. He stood still for a moment, then he laid her on one of the large window-sills of the Hogwarts windows. He dusted of the sill, then folded her hands over her small chest, as if she was praying. He stepped back to take in the scene he had arranged.  
  
She was Sleeping Beauty. At least roughly at the same age, those fairytale princesses were originally all much younger than many assumed. Thirteen or fourteen, no more.  
He stepped nearer again and fondled her hair, catching one strand of admirably dark hair in his fingers. He cut it off and secured it in the inside pocket of his jacket. Then, he slowly leaned down and gently kissed her on the lips. She didn't wake up, so he kicked against the wall. Seers were supposed to be powerful, not to die before they even menstruated because they asked the big bad werewolf to kill them.  
  
„Sorry, _Rotkäppchen_ “, he muttered, „the Brother's Grimm wouldn't like your end.“  
  
With that, he placed a safety charm upon the small corpse to prevent her from damage before her parent's could find her. He was no one to keep promises, though technically he hadn't made one, but he didn't want to destroy this fairytale anymore than it already was. Chances were he would get his own. The Nice Murdering Werewolf, or, rather, _Der nette, mordende Werwolf_. And if it wouldn't work out with this war, he would just set sail to Germany and hunt some grimms. Or Grimm's. Hm, fun idea...  
  
As Fenrir reached the fighting ground again, he could hear the piercing scream of a mother.

**Author's Note:**

> Rotkäppchen: Little Red Riding Hood
> 
> I'm not even sure how my Fenrir became a fairytale coinnosseur, but hey, stranger things have happened.


End file.
